


A Soft Epilogue

by ChristinaS412



Series: I'll Take Your Love With Me When I Go [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Arya-centric, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fix-It, Fluff and Angst, Gendry Waters-centric, Gendry is a Baratheon, Gendrya - Freeform, Happy Ending, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Lord Gendry Waters, Minor Original Character(s), POV Arya Stark, POV Gendry Waters, Post-Canon Fix-It, Post-Episode: s08e05 The Bells, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2021-01-04 18:40:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21202256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChristinaS412/pseuds/ChristinaS412
Summary: The raven from Kings Landing reaches him long before the dying white horse collapses at his gates. For a moment he can hardly believe she’s there, lying in the mud half-crushed beneath the beast, below him.***a collection of moments between Gendry and Arya as they navigate through new territory after the war.





	A Soft Epilogue

**Author's Note:**

> This story has been at the back of my mind since s8e5 aired, it's taken a while to finally put it on paper but I hope you enjoy! It's also a sort of prequel to Sunday Mornings, so if you want more after reading feel free to check that out lol
> 
> Also a BIG Thank you to @thereluctantbadger for being an amazing (and quick) beta and giving me the confidence to post this!

The raven from Kings Landing reaches him long before the dying white horse collapses at his gates. For a moment he can hardly believe she’s there, lying in the mud half-crushed beneath the beast, below him. 

His heart drops when Ser Davos commands the guards to lower the portcullis, his legs already moving before he can think about where they’re taking him. The words echo in tune with his strides as he takes the stone stairs two at a time. By the time he reaches her side Gendry hardly thinks twice before shoving the guards to one side and kneel beside her small frame. The blood and ash that caked her beautiful face had long since dried and begun to flake, leaving a patchwork of purple bruises in its wake. Strands of her hair were clotted with mud and sticks, giving her the almost feral appearance he remembered from their childhood. 

Disregarding the offers for help as he drags the horse off of her Gendry doesn’t think twice before scooping her into his arms. She seemed lighter than the last time he had held her. It’s the memory of that night that spurs him into action again, turning back towards the castle, past the guards and through the labyrinth of hallways until he finally finds his chambers again. If he hadn’t caught the flutter of her eyelids from his peripheral he might have been proud of himself for finding his room so quickly, but that wasn’t important. _ Not now _. Not with her lying limp in his arms. 

Cautiously he lowers her into his featherbed, taking care with the pillows beneath her head that he hardly notices Davos standing by the door. 

“There’s a room down the hall we can move her too,” he offers, though his expression doesn’t hide his disdain towards his own advice. 

“She’ll stay here as long as she needs.” He hadn’t been Lord of anything for long, but he was never more certain of his command. 

Turning to gently unlace her leather riding boots from her legs Gendry ignored Davos as he shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. “There’ll be rumors… Ned Stark's youngest unwed maiden daughter staying here in your chambers while her brothers on trial.” 

“She’s no maiden,” the words slip from his lips sharply before he can think to stop them. To preoccupied with pulling his furs over her to warm her to care about etiquette. _ What difference did it make now? _ He was a Lord and Warden of the East. 

Davos must have sensed his stubborn resolve on the matter, relenting with a heavy sigh. “I’ll go get the maids and maester, she’ll need a proper bath and some herbs for those wounds.” 

Sitting along the edge of the bed Gendry can’t find it in himself to tear his eyes away from her as his fingers trailed out to find hers. If he didn’t focus on the small rise and fall of her chest he would almost believe she was dead. _ No _. He wouldn’t think about that. He wouldn’t let his thoughts trail off to the horrors she had survived in Kingslanding. The pyre of a thousand lives she had escaped to make it here to him. Gendry didn’t believe in the Gods. Didn’t see the use of it. But in that moment he sent a silent thanks to the heavens for their mercy. 

“My Lord,” The maester interrupted accompanied by two maids carrying what looked like washcloths and a tunic. 

Offering them a grim smile Gendry squeezed Arya’s hand, “Perhaps you should leave them to it,” Davos suggested still standing in the hallway behind the group. 

“Perhaps it would be in our best interests if we should preserve Lady Starks privacy until she wakes,” The maester added thoughtfully before Gendry could reply, “we could not deny you your place here once she’s washed and dressed.”

He made a good point, despite the fact that he had seen her bathing on the road before and she had chosen him before the battle. Arya hadn’t been shy around him before, but this, this was new. She had declined his proposal afterall, who was to say she would want him here for this. 

Deciding to take their council Gendry stood, offering the group a stiff nod to carry on before moving past them in search of a strong drink and steady hammer. He’d finish three new swords before the night was done and he finally found his way back to her bedside. 

She looked almost peaceful in the moonlight, despite the colorful bruises that bloomed across her forehead from the nasty cut above her eyebrow. Exhausted, Gendry dragged the lounge chair from the corner of the room. It wasn’t as comfortable as the featherbed of the Lords chambers, but then, after years of sleeping on the ground anything was better than nothing. Stretching his sore legs out onto the corner of the bed he let his head drop back against the stone wall and drifted off to sleep 

* * *

It would be weeks before she finally woke, thrashing, from her sleep. Gendry had nearly fallen from the chair in surprise, before he had scrambled to hand her a glass of water the maids had left on the table. 

Watching her gulp it down hungrily he contemplated leaving to alert Davos when her grey eyes caught his attention. “Where are we?” Her voice hoarse from sleep. 

“Storm's End,” He cringed at the way his voice broke, “in my room…”

“Your room?” Arya replied, forgetting about whatever nightmare she had had. Raising a lone eyebrow in dry amusement as she thumbed the glass. “How did I get here?”

Gendry floundered, knowing the maester had told him to ease her back into reality to prevent shock from taking hold. “Kings Landing.” He muttered finally, there was no use in lying. “After the burning...you rode here, alone, on a horse.” Arya’s expression twisted at that, quieting down as she scanned the room. “-I’ll go get the maester.” Gendry added in after thought. 

“No,” twisting to get out of bed Arya winced when she spotted the splint wrapped around her ankle. “Help me,” she ordered waving him over. 

Frowning he hesitated, “You should rest, it’ll heal faster.”

“My brother needs me,” Arya replied bluntly getting increasingly frustrated as she tried to put weight on the broken ankle. 

“Arya-,” Gods how had he not prepared himself for this? Of course she’d be worried about him. “Jon. He’s...he’s gone North. Back beyond the wall.” Raking a hand over his head he tried to find the right words as her eyebrows knit together in confusion. “After the burning… your brother killed the queen. Jon was jailed and tried for treason when they exiled him beyond the wall.”

Still as a statue, Gendry wondered briefly if the shock had finally hit. But before he can kneel to hold her, to touch her and let her know she’s not alone, Arya snarls at him. “Leave.” Reeling in surprise he stares her when she points to the door. “Now.” There’s no room for doubt with the tone of her voice, even as his temper flares to argue that they were in his chambers. Jaw clenching in frustration, trying his best to understand what she must be feeling, Gendry leaves without another word. 

* * *

** _Dearest sister_ ** , her eyes roll at the scrolls heading. This was only the latest letter Sansa had sent reminding her that her place was in Winterfell with the rest of her family. _ What family? _ Arya had sneered when she had read the first dozen letters. Their parents were dead, Robb was dead, Theon was dead, Rickon was dead, Jon was exiled. _ What difference did it make where she lived out the few miserable days she had left? _

Tossing the scroll into the glowing embers of the hearth she grabbed the tankard of ale one of the maids had left to ease her night terrors. Arya hadn’t had the heart to tell the woman that it wouldn’t help. Nothing would erase the echoes of a thousand screams, or silence the rumble of dragon and wildfire turning her world to ash. Nothing she did would stop the little girl and her mother from burning and filling Arya’s lungs with the bitter taste of death. She had tried scrubbing the smell of blood during her baths, but her skin had turned pink and raw from the coarse bristles. _ No _. Ale didn’t ease her mind. It only brought her further into the depths of the inferno, holding her captive as the ground shook under the thunderous hoofbeats of the Dothraki horde. Most nights she would wake when the steel of their arakhs kissed her throat. Only it was the pale blue scar of the Night Kings fingers closing around her pale neck that greeted her in the looking glass each morning. 

Gendry would be there too, without fail, balancing his head in the palm of one hand as he slept in the chair beside her bed when she woke from her terrors. The sight brought a pang of guilt, knowing she had been hard on him. _ He loves you _, Davos would observe later after Gendry left her angrily. 

_ How could he? _ She almost asked. Gendry didn’t know what she had survived, he didn’t know what she had become to survive. No one did, not even Jon who was half a world away and told her everything when they were little. _ Who was left to love her now? _

She had spent a week in bed after that, suffering through the dreams only so she wouldn’t have to speak to anyone. Only Gendry stayed, visiting her every night and leaving by the first light of morning when he thought she wasn’t watching. 

_ Nothing better to attend to Lord Baratheon? _, Arya had finally snapped one morning sitting up in her furs as he left. 

“No,” He replied gruffly, blue eyes holding hers defiantly for a moment, before he disappeared back down to the forge. He was stubborn, she would give him that. But two could play the game and so she drank her sorrows instead.

  


* * *

Winter takes his lands by storm. It’s still strange to call any of it his, but the people are no longer strangers. Most of his people had holed up in their homes for the season. From Darron the fishers son that brings him fresh salmon, to old widow that first welcomed him. If it hadn’t been for his journey beyond the wall Gendry would have sworn he had never felt so cold. Only Arya seems to love the weather, wandering around the grounds outside the castle.

Her ankle still bothered her from time to time, and the broken set of ribs the Maester had tried in vain to wrap, hadn’t fully set back the way they had been before. Not that she would ever admit it but Gendry wasn’t blind to the sight of Arya out of breath when she settled back into bed midday. It was disconcerting, but he had learned to keep his thoughts to himself. 

They had hardly shared more than a few words with one another since the first night she had woken, but he still found himself falling asleep on the lounge chair across from her every night. _ Incase she had night terrors _, he had reasoned when Davos mentioned the observation. It wasn’t a complete lie, it did help with the night terrors, it was just that she wasn’t the only one who couldn’t sleep. 

Whatever Arya he had fallen in love with before the battle, she wasn’t the same woman now. It took effort on his end not to lose his temper, Gendry has Davos to thank for not losing it more times than he already had. It’s Davos that Arya seems to like talking to, choosing to ask him for the things she needs instead of bothering Gendry. 

He tried not to let it get the best of him, but when Arya argues one morning that she’s sick of staying cooped up inside the castle walls Gendry can’t help but snap back, “Yeah well, no one’s keeping you here.” The rest of his thoughts die on his lips, storming out of her chambers and down to the forge where he can safely hammer out his frustration over an anvil. 

* * *

She considers the idea when spring finally thaws the ground enough for travelers to make their way along the Kingsroad. He knows this because he catches her standing in the shadows beneath the portcullis surveying the land beyond on his way back from the forge one night. He doesn’t want her to leave, but the distance between them hurts just as much. 

It’s the realization that he’s got nothing left to lose that finally spurs Gendry into action when Davos informs him that she’s been training by the shoreline. Grabbing his war hammer he leaves the old man in charge and picks his way across the windswept plains to her side. 

“What’re you doing?” She asks, pausing in her confusion. 

“What’s it look like?” 

Arya frowns, resuming her position instead of meeting his gaze, “I don’t want to train with you.” With two precise steps she spins the sword and slides into her classic stance. 

“Well I do,” Gendry retorts with a shrug gripping his hammer. 

He tries his best not to react as her grey eyes narrowed dangerously at his insolence before she moves to strike. 

Before the limp Arya would have bested him, but now there’s a tell. A slight delay she hasn’t learned to control, and he sees the frustration echoed in her eyes. It’s enough for him to side step the attack and counter it with the swing of his hammer. 

“You’re getting better,” He comments with a swing of his hammer, knowing it would push her buttons. 

It works, flustering her, “Shut up.”

“And if I don’t?” Gendry goads with a slight grin, blocking an attack with the hilt of his weapon. 

“I could throw you over the edge,” Arya says simply, her eyes catching his. For a moment he almost believes she would. Afterall she doesn’t need speed to outsmart him. But he decides to call her bluff all the same. 

“No you wouldn’t, that’s not you.” 

Dodging his attacks and forcing him to move closer to the edge of the shoreline with each counter Arya scowls, “You don’t know me.” 

Realizing she would win, and most likely ignore him again if he didn’t change tactics Gendry attacked one last time, dropping his hammer mid-swing so that he could tackle her unexpectedly. Rolling his weight on top of her he grabs her wrists and stares down at her, “I knew you were a girl when no one else did. I knew about your father, the Hand.” Pausing to let his words sink in Gendry grunted when Arya used the chance to kick him in the groin and flip them. “...I know you don’t like being called a Lady.” He winced, “I know you’re good at riding horses and sword fighting. And how you like rabbit stew and reading history books… seven hells I know you can’t sleep at night unless you say your little list, only you haven’t said it since the burning-” 

“_ Don’t _,” Arya interrupted, her nails digging into his wrists to keep him pinned for another moment before she finally stands and dusts herself off. “You weren’t there.”

“I wasn’t,” Gendry agreed sitting up and watching her slide needle back into its sheath, “Do you think I wanted to be here? Gathering forces for her when we saw the smoke rise and heard their screams?”

“Don’t…” She repeats, meekly this time, as she turns to walk back to the castle. No matter how badly he wants to follow her, Gendry stays seated, watching her hair blow in the wind. 

* * *

He isn’t in the chair when she wakes to the memory of the white horse, it wasn’t the first time she had dreamed of the mare. Arya oft dreamed of finding the beast only to die at some horrible end. This time was different. The dragons and riders were gone, leaving a path of destruction for her to follow. Grabbing the reins she mounted, intent on leaving before death could find her again, when a voice rang out in the silence. _ Go home girl. _

Home. _ She was home _. Arya had done what he had asked. Disoriented for a moment Arya almost mistook the sound of the winds for howling wolves. When another thought dawned on her more clearly. Nymeria. Nymeria hadn’t followed her home because Winterfell had never been home for her. Home was a pack of wolves, and her wolves needed her. 

Flinging the furs away from her Arya nearly vaulted out of bed, grabbing Gendry’s cloak from the chair near the window and forgetting her shoes in her hurry as she left.

* * *

It’s the dead of night when the door to the forge creaks open revealing a disheveled Arya, muddy and cold, wrapped up in his robe. So much for sleep, he muses silently from his spot lying on the bench in the corner.

“Gendry?” she calls out, unceremoniously flopping down on the bench beside his head. 

Eyeing her upside down from his place, Gendry wonders if he’s ever met a bigger pain in his ass than Arya Stark. Instead he answers her with a low grunt, closing his eyes again to try and find sleep again.“‘M sorry for earlier...” She mumbles. He only nods trying his best to focus on falling back asleep when he feels the ghost of her fingertips comb through his grown out hair. That was new. She hadn’t touched him like that since before the battle. 

“‘S fine,” he murmured trying not to focus on the movement of her fingers. For a moment they stay like that, when she finally breaks the silence just as he’s about to fall asleep again. “You were right about the list…you were right about a lot of things actually...”

Opening one eye to see her staring down at him Gendry sighs, rolling onto his side and sits up to lean against her form. Nodding in silent acceptance of her apology. 

Grey eyes catching his in the moonlight filtering through the door she seems uncertain of what to say next, “How do you sleep.... Now, after everything?”

Shrugging Gendry shuffled his feet in the dirt below the bench, “haven’t really. ” pausing he glanced at her, “it’s easier with you...after Harrenhall, the red witch, and all the bloodshed. I know ‘m not alone.” That seemed to resonate with her, teeth catching her lip in thought like she had done when she was younger. “Your list-”

“Everyone on that list is dead, there’s no one left.” Arya interrupts. 

“Make a new one then,” Gendry suggests, irritation getting the best of him. “Why not make a list of everyone you’ve saved?”

Lips tilting into a frown Arya glances up at him, “I haven’t saved anyone…”

“Seven hells sometimes I wish you’d hear yourself,” he retorts rolling his eyes.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Arya none of us would be here if it wasn’t for you.” Daring her to interrupt him again with the rise of an eyebrow Gendry shook his head, “You killed the Night King. Not Bran. Not Jon. Not Danaerys. If you don’t see that you’re as stupid as the rest of them.”

“It wasn’t enough though…” She tried to argue, though her words lacked their usual edge. 

“It’s enough for me.” Catching her questioning gaze Gendry swallowed thickly. “Lady or not, you’ll always be enough.” 

Tears welled up at the corners of her beautiful grey eyes, threatening to spill over when she leaned up to plant a chaste kiss on his lips. And he was right, it was enough in that moment. 

It would take years before she could finally sleep through the night, but even then Gendry never left her. She was no lady, yet his people treated like one all the same, until Arya had learned each of their names by heart. Darron, the fisherman's son, taught her to sail to Evenfall, and she kept her hands busy harvesting crop with the old widows from Bronzegate. 

In time their children would run through the courtyard chasing stray cats and train with Anguy, who’s red hair had greyed and begun to bald beneath his leather cap. Even Hotpie, who had suffered a nearly fatal illness in his later years, moved into the castle with his modest family. _ It wasn’t a lot _ , Arya would reflect echoing Gendry’s words as they lay in bed years later. _ But they were her home, and that was enough for her. _

  


**Author's Note:**

> Honestly this breaks my heart as much as it patches up the holes in my sinking ship. If you enjoyed reading feel free to leave a kudos and comment you're favorite line/thoughts on the work!
> 
> thanks for reading ^.^


End file.
